Apologizing to Josef was the easy part. Becoming a human sex slave to a
sex-crazed vampire? That was a challenge, one that Samira Dupree was
sure she was up to. Would she be able to walk away from the demon with
her mortal soul intact?

When Adam overreacts to his mother's matchmaking owing to stress, and
insults an old friend, little does he know he's closer to the truth
than he thinks. Calling Lane a fairy isn't the slight he thinks it is.
Adam has very clear ideas concerning the type of man he's attracted to,
and Lane isn't it.
Little does he know he's also goaded the other man into acting on
feelings long suppressed. For both of them, what they feel during sex
and afterwards brings more than a little magic into their lives. If they
can survive their own mistaken beliefs and prejudices -- and outside
threats -- they might just find something lasting together, and Adam
might have to change his mind over the importance of physical attraction
and what it means.
While Adam's shop burns around him, can he salvage more than the precious items for sale?

Amadeo may be the most charismatic ringmaster Cirque Caprice has ever
seen, but security head Jon doesn't trust him. Jon knows too many of
Amadeo's secrets. Amadeo knows he's changed, but he has no idea he has
to prove it to Jon until it may be too late. Can Amadeo show Jon that a
leopard can change its spots?

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"No. No, I don't think his background check was as clean as you..." Jon
trailed off, listening to Jake, the head security man for the
corporation. In other words, his boss. He paced, the confines of his
makeshift office seeming far too small. "No, it's just dodgy, is all.
Nothing I can actually use. Sure. I'll keep an eye on him."
The hair rose on the back of his neck, and Jon turned to see Amadeo
Perralo standing behind him. He held up a finger, trying to ignore the
heat crawling up the back of his neck from being caught talking about
the guy, and from how hot the man looked today.
"Okay. Yeah. No, I'm sure you're right. Bye." Jon hit the end button on his phone. "Can I help you?"
Amadeo sure tried to stare him down, strong jaw set, almost black eyes
full of fire. "I certainly hope so. Why won't you sign off on the stage
design?"
"It's not safe." While Jon did have reservations about the safety of the
design, his main problem was Amadeo. The man posed far too much of a
security risk. When someone ran away to join the circus, Jake might be
not be too concerned with background checks, but Jon disagreed. A
ringmaster had access to every part of the show. Amadeo should have
check out more or less clean, but Jon knew things about the man that no
one else seemed to care about. Jon didn't like secrets. No matter how
attractive the package they came wrapped in.
"It's perfectly safe. This isn't the days of the old elephant and bear circus, my dear."
The patronizing tone made Jon grit his teeth. "Maybe not, but there are
pyrotechnics and there's all sorts of equipment and shit. Those
side-wing stairs..."
"Provide us with audience participation. You must leave them in."
"I must do what my boss tells me to do, and you are not him."
"He."
"That's pedantic bullshit."
Amadeo raised one jet-black brow. "I'm amazed you know the word."
"Oh, fuck you. You don't know squat about me." That did it; he was
getting a hold of Jake again and telling him they weren't ready to run
through their final dress rehearsal. He'd make a recommendation on
Amadeo and then ask for a raise or a transfer. They didn't pay him
enough for this constant aggravation. Amadeo was absolutely infuriating,
from his complete resistance to paperwork to his penchant for hiring
performers without consulting Jon first.
"Mmm. No. I'd do you, though."
Jon whirled to face Amadeo, his hands clenched into fists. "I swear to God, I am going to beat you to death."
"You're welcome to try." The evil gleam in Amadeo's eyes and the taunting grin on those pretty lips made Jon snap.
Jon actually took a swing at the man, a wild haymaker that was
completely out of character for him, and completely at odds with his
training. The blow connected, but not with Amadeo's face. Instead, his
fist slapped against Amadeo's palm.
"Temper, temper," Amadeo murmured. "Very sexy."
"You -- I..." Jon was going to explode. He didn't trust this man, didn't
like him, and he hated to admit it, but right now he wanted Amadeo
sexually in the worst way.
"You and I, indeed. A very nice picture."
"Okay, I've had it. I am going to beat you until you can't see."
Amadeo kept the tight grip on Jon's hand, using it to draw him close
enough that their chests touched. "Go ahead. Of course that's assault
and will get you fired, but if you find it worthwhile..."
Jon's other hand moved before he even thought about it, flying in an arc
toward Amadeo's face. He missed, which should have been impossible at
that range, but it was almost like his hand had been deflected. Fucking
bastard and his freaky "talent."
"I can think of so many uses for your hands, my dear. This is not one of them."
"You fucking -- mmph." Jon had no idea what he would have said, given
the chance. Amadeo shoved the words right back down his throat, kissing
him so hard he saw stars. His lips pressed back against his teeth, and
Jon's eyes opened so wide with surprise that he could see every
individual lash around Amadeo's eyes, could see the smooth texture of
the man's skin, broken on his cheeks by dark stubble. Then he closed his
eyes and let Amadeo have his mouth, opening up for the exploration. If
he had been into purple prose he would call it a plundering.
He got his hands free, but instead of pushing Amadeo away, Jon clutched
at the man's wide shoulders, his legs spreading so he could brace
himself. His cock hardened, so fast it left him breathless and aching,
his chest heaving with the need for air. The kiss eased just enough for
him to gasp a few times, gulping in oxygen. Then Amadeo took his lips
again, giving him no time to think. Thinking might be bad in a situation
like this.
When they finally broke to breathe again, Amadeo reached down between
them and squeezed Jon's cock through his black cargo pants. "Mmm. I knew
you would be hot and hard. You taste like coffee and honey."
"Thanks for the color commentary." Christ, he'd lost his mind. Jon tried
to get his hands to let go of Amadeo's shoulders, but it just wasn't
happening. Traitor muscles.
"Are you the sort of man who doesn't like to talk during sex?" His cock got a nice hard squeeze. "I'm a talker, I'm afraid."
"I'm not having sex with you."
Amadeo pushed him back against the big desk he'd had brought in, the one
luxury in his otherwise extremely mobile office. Folders, papers and
what was possibly a stapler dug into Jon's back. "Oh, I disagree. In
fact, I think we need to get started now."
"I don't think --"
Amadeo loomed over him, pressing down on his wrists, which were suddenly held captive in Amadeo's capable hands. "Don't think."

Vance is in the doghouse with Ouida. He's made a mistake that might
cost him the love of his life. Just when he thinks things can't get any
worse, an old enemy shows up, injuring his friend and his former
Lieutenant Xen, and kidnapping their mate.
Vance has shown mercy before, but now it's time to bring the curtain
down on this saga of vengeance. No matter what it takes, Vance is going
to convince Xen to forgive him, get their mate back, and teach his enemy
once and for all, it's a fatal mistake to mess with this Alpha's
family.
Patrick Smith will soon learn werewolves have no enemies... because they eat them.

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your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be
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"Xen, we need to talk. Privately, please."
The black wolf turned to face me, ears perked forward, questioning
glance sharp. I knew the tone of my voice gave me away. Without a word,
he shook himself, shifted to Skin guise and pulled on some clothes, and
slipped on shoes. With a quiet yip to alert Brax and Usher, who were
watching a movie on low, so as not to disturb a sleeping Chase, we left
the apartment.
"What's up?" We'd barely cleared the walkway leading to the complex's
enclosed garden area before he'd launched into his questioning. "There's
not much we couldn't share with Brax and Usher, but it's not them so
much as Chase might overhear. I figure it has to be personal, and that
means something to do with Ouida."
I sighed, dreading his reaction, but I had to set things right with him.
The only way to do that was to just come clean. "One of the pups Ouida
is carrying is yours. Somehow, you managed to bond with her even though
she'd already bonded with me."
Xen froze in place. The astounded look on his face would have been
comical if this situation hadn't been so serious. At his side, his hands
bunched into fists. The tension radiating throughout his body was
evident by the bristling fur at his ruff, only partially hidden by his
shirt collar. His voice came out more like a growl. "What are you
saying?"
"You've felt it all along. The connection between the two of you is too
strong to ignore. That's why you sent her a phone to stay in touch,
knowing it was against our laws. And it's why she refused to give that
phone up, even when I demanded it of her point blank. It's why you
haven't been able to take another female all this time. You get blue
balls whenever you think of her, but the minute you try to fuck someone
who's not Ouida, you go limp as a noodle."
Xen started shaking. "How can you know that? Have you had Brax and Usher reporting on me?"
I shook my head. "Nothing so convoluted. I know because I'm the same. No
other female interests me. Even when I wasn't fucking her while she
healed, I couldn't even think of another, of easing my needs with
someone not Ouida, without losing whatever erection I had."
Xen looked away. "I've tried to get her out of my head. I swear I've
fought my desire for her, knowing how dishonorable it is." He turned
back, met my eyes. "Your friendship means the world to me. I know
there's no way we could ever be friends if I tried again to take her
from you, and if I was inclined to try, Ouida's made her choice clear in
that matter. So why are you telling me this now?" His brows drew
together in a frown. "Come to think of it, why are you only just now
getting around to telling me this?"
"Because I've only just become aware of it. No." I stopped, refusing to
continue wallowing in the lie. "That's not wholly true. I've known for
some while that one of the pups was yours. How could I not? I was
prepared to raise it as mine."
"And you didn't think I had the right to know a child of my lineage had been created?"
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off a headache. "Xen, I
acknowledge I was wrong in my actions. I've made more mistakes than I
can count, so can we save the recriminations for later? Let me just get
through this as quickly as possible."
"Talk."
He strode away from me, causing me to lengthen my stride to keep up. I
grabbed his arm, forcing him to face me once more. "Damn it, Xen, do you
think this is easy? Ouida is my mate. She is bearing my pup. Yet when
we last communicated mind-to-mind, I saw the bond she shares with you,
shining as bright as the one stretching between her and I."
Xen's eyes were bright with tears, his face wet where they trailed over
the sharp blade of his cheekbone. "I've felt her, here." He thumped his
chest, continuing to speak through his tears. "Every single day since I
parted from her, I've suffered a constant ache because I couldn't be
with her. I'd see something beautiful and turn to share it with her, and
she wouldn't be there." He drew in a deep breath as he turned away,
hiding his face if not his emotions. "I hate you, Vance."
I didn't blame him. I also didn't believe him. We had too much shared
history between us. We had Ouida between us. "You're going to have a
problem living with me if that's true."
He spun back around, expressions chasing one after another across his face, hope the uppermost. "Living with you?"
"I've spoken with Ouida. She's willing to accept both of us as equal mates, if you and I can come to an agreement about it."
Xen looked skeptical. "It's a common practice during the Fertility
Festival, but to share a mate when the festival is over? It's never been
done."
"We don't know that. All we know is this pack's tradition, and we've
both learned recently that our pack does not make up the whole of our
people." I stepped into Xen's personal space, grabbed his forearms. "If
we're willing to do this, willing to make this arrangement work, then no
one has the right to dictate how we choose to live." I smiled. It was a
baring of teeth the other wolf recognized for what it was: a challenge.
"Since when have we followed? We've always led. Why change now?"
"Are you really willing to do this, Vance? You're okay with sharing Ouida with me?"
He doubted my sincerity and I didn't blame him. "At first, I confess I felt some resentment, but no longer."
"What changed your mind?"

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Northlight Brook, Maine
Marla's tongue rolled over Michael's cock head, then tickled the
ultra-sensitive underside. She licked the shaft as if it were a favorite
treat, then engulfed the crown, drawing it deep into her hot, wet
mouth.
Staring at her through half-closed eyes, Michael fought to control his
inner demon while still enjoying her carnal attentions. "Use your
teeth," he said, his voice almost a growl.
She did as he asked, raking her teeth along his shaft.
"Harder! And use your nails. You know how I like it."
Moaning softly, she lightly bit his cock and scraped her nails over his
inner thighs, almost drawing blood. Michael groaned and closed his eyes.
Pleasure and pain. He would never have one without the other. He just
wasn't built that way. No one could truly accept his unleashed passion,
so he needed to control the beast with pain while his bedmates fucked
the man.
She wasn't biting quite hard enough, and her skilled tongue teased him
to the brink. He burned and ached all over. To satisfy his demon, he
reached into the leather box resting on the bedside table and tugged out
a long, sharp needle. He closed his fist around it and gasped. Hot
blood smeared against his palm.
"Michael." She lifted her head. A flash of concern passed through her light brown eyes. "Don't."
"Climb on," he said. "Do it. You want it. I can tell."
"Yeah, I want it."
The aroma of her juices and her floral perfume filled the room, spurring on his almost uncontrollable lust.
She straddled him and her satiny ass brushed against his rock-hard cock.
Grasping his shaft, she adjusted her position and guided his cock head
to her pussy. She was so fucking wet and hot that he slid in easily.
Arching her head back, she moaned again and her muscles squeezed him in
deeper.
Michael reached for another needle. He took her hand and curled it
around the long, slender piece of metal, then wrapped his fist around
hers and guided her hand to his chest.
"Please don't," she said.
"You specialize in pain. The flogging was fantastic."
"One of these days you're going to go too far and I don't want it to be with me."
"There's no such thing as too far. Not for a guy like me."
"Dude, you're flesh and blood, you know. Michael!" she snapped when he forced her to rake the needle across his chest.
He drew a sharp breath and smiled. His hips lunged upward, his cock thrusting deep inside her, rubbing and teasing her.
Marla's eyes closed halfway and she rocked her hips. "I love it when you fuck me," she said.
"I'm sure you say that to all the guys."
"Yeah, but when I'm with you I mean it," she panted, then leaned down
and bit his lower lip in a way that drove him crazy. He cupped the back
of her head and kissed her hard. Marla tossed the needle aside and
caressed his chest.
She grasped his nipple rings and pulled them.
More pleasure-pain tore through Michael and his heart pounded. He tore
the needle from his hand, grasped her waist and pushed her onto her
back. Covering her mouth in a plundering kiss, he filled her with his
cock. Her soft belly rolled upward, pressing against his muscled
stomach.
"Hold me," he said. "I want to feel you, Marla. Dig your nails in and show me how much you love it when I fuck you."
An almost pleading look in her eyes, she shook her head, but he kissed
her hard again and thrust faster, his cock rubbing her to the edge.
He paused, his hands braced on either side of her head, his breathing
ragged. "Give me what I want and I'll give you what you want..." http://changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1716

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your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be
accessed by under-aged readers.

Alone, Kyle Lohan entered his private balcony at the Grampian Theater in
Edinburgh, Scotland. As he sat down, the house lights dimmed briefly to
signal a two minute warning before the show began. The box smelled
faintly of sex, although he doubted anyone without a vampire's
heightened senses could detect the erotic scent. Regardless, it was his
own fault for sneaking in to watch rehearsals the previous evening. He'd
been unable to resist tugging his cock in time with the heavy beat of
the dancers as they practiced.
Okay, not all the performers excited him. Just one.
Tain O'Halloran.
Tonight Kyle had better prepared for the public performance, or so he'd
thought. The quick release during his shower should have calmed his
libido enough to sit through the performance without a hard-on. But as
the first strains of a flute solo poured across the stage, the
anticipation proved to be more than his body could resist and his cock
rose to an aching fullness.
Tain. On stage. His stage.
How long had he waited for this? Worked for this? Dreamed of this?
Sometimes it seemed like forever. And yet, very soon, the moment he'd
been preparing for would arrive. One way or another, he would finally
end his long pursuit.
He adjusted the fit of his tuxedo pants as the chorus sprinted across
the stage. Their shoes hit the wooden floor in rhythmic, staccato beats,
flirting with the notes. Kyle couldn't stop his own feet from scuffing
against the floor in a pale imitation of the dancers' fancy footwork.
Had his heart been prone to beat, it would have been racing as fast as
the music.
A few more seconds...
Then, appearing out of a flash of light and smoke, bam! There he was.
Tain O'Halloran. The male lead's long, sleek black hair floated behind
him as he bounced in perfect synchronization with the little blond at
his side. His grey eyes flashed with pure joy and a little arrogance. A
smile curved his thin pink lips. And what that black leather did for his
ass...
Kyle groaned softly as his cock twitched with longing, but he refused to
slake his lust. Privacy wasn't an issue, even during a public
performance. No, nothing mattered more than soaking up every moment of
this night to tuck away in his memories. If the evening didn't go as
planned, this could be all he had left to remember the talented young
man come morning.
The first dance ended, and Kyle felt the tightness in his chest ease as
Tain exited stage right. He'd reappear several times throughout the
performance.
Kyle itched with anticipation for the next time, and the next... and the
next...
By the second act, Kyle could pick out Tain's unique sweat from the
morass of odors permeating the air. The scent teased his cock like
nothing else. His whole body tensed as he imagined jumping over the
balcony's rail to land on top of the dancer's young bones, then fucking
him to within an inch of his life, claiming him on stage for all the
world to see.
Well, that's one way to announce that you're back in his life, Kyle thought with a rueful shake of his head. Definitely not one of your brightest ideas though.
If anything, such a bold, stupid move would get him thrown out of Tain's
life for good. Kyle's goal was quite the opposite. If he had his way,
nothing would separate him from Tain ever again.
The show ended with a roar of applause that pulled the dancers back on
stage for a second encore. Vibrant and smiling under the lights, Tain
looked like he could hold out for a third reprise if the director let
him. However, the rest of the troupe wasn't fairing as well, so when the
curtains closed again the house lights came up.
The show was over, but Kyle's performance of a lifetime was about to begin.http://changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1717

Vaughn Burke is an Enforcer -- a werewolf working for Marcus Deleon and tasked to help their kind escape from the vampire Dalton Gray. When Marcus gives Vaughn a new case, it's not exactly what Vaughn expects.

Elian Levine is the guitarist for a metal band, but he has a secret no one knows. When he managed to escape Dalton Gray, he kept the truth hidden, even from his band mates. Now their need for a singer threatens to tear the lid off his closely-guarded past.

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"No."
Elian Levine glared at the closed door where the latest loser had thankfully stepped through after a fucking awful audition.
"Dude, we've tried out every fucking singer in the city," Cole said as he set his bass down.
"I refuse to work with some half-assed idiot who can't be bothered to
learn covers," Elian snapped. "If that makes me a God damned diva, so
fucking be it!"
Behind his drum kit, Derick twirled a stick absently. "You're not a diva
-- yet -- but Cole's right. We're running out of options. We've got
gigs coming up, E."
Elian threw his hands up in the air, utterly frustrated. "Fuck it! I'll sing!"
"Uh, excuse me?"
He whirled around to face the next jackass to try out. "If you can't sing, might as well get the fuck out... Ah, shit."
"What Elian is trying to say," Cole interrupted, giving Elian the evil
eye, "is hello. He's just in a pissy mood because most of the guys we've
seen haven't bothered to even learn a single cover worth doing."
"Ah." The man extended a hand to Cole, though his gaze remained fastened on Elian. "Name's Vaughn Burke."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Cole Powers, bass. On drums, we have Derick Osborn."
"And Mr. Attitude is Elian," Vaughn finished. "We've... met."
Elian snorted. He switched his amp back on and waited until Cole was ready. "See if you can keep up."
He launched into "Sanitarium" -- classic Metallica. Not paying much
attention, expecting Vaughn to stumble on the words, Elian nearly forgot
the damn chords when the man began actually singing. Note for note,
word for word, Vaughn nailed it. Without missing a beat, the man
followed them through another three classic metal songs, and Elian
grudgingly admitted they might have found their singer.
They wrapped up the final song, and Vaughn looked like he knew damn well
what went through Elian's mind. Those eyes bore a hole through Elian,
and he barely managed to suppress a shiver. He'd never heard Vaughn
sing, though he'd heard rumors when they were in high school.
"Dude." Cole laughed and shook his head. He glanced at Derick, then Elian. "You got it."
Vaughn nodded. "Cool. I'm gonna step out for a cigarette."
The second the door shut, Cole grinned. "Fuckin' A, man! He's perfect!"
"He's an asshole."
"How do you two know each other anyway?"
Elian turned off the amp and set his guitar on its stand. "We went to
high school together. I knew he was in a band, but didn't know he sang."
"You're okay with it, right?"
"Yeah. He's good, I'll give him that."
Derick packed up the last of his spare sticks and grabbed his wallet off
the bass amp. "I need to get going. See you guys tomorrow night."
"I gotta head out, too," Cole said. "I'll catch up with you in the morning, E."
Elian waved them out, content to stay behind and clean up a bit. If he
waited long enough, maybe Vaughn would be gone too. He hadn't seen the
guy since they'd graduated, and that was perfectly fine with him. Vaughn
Burke might have a god's voice -- and looks, if Elian let himself admit
it -- but he was still an asshole.
"It figures you'd be the one I'd run into."
Fuck. "Yeah, well, just my luck you're the only fucking singer who can carry a tune."
The door shut and Elian glanced up briefly to see Vaughn leaning back
against it, muscular arms crossed over hard chest. He didn't look like a
guy who could sing worth a damn. He looked more like the football
player he used to be. Unfortunately.
"Cut the shit, Levine."
"What?"
"How did you escape him?"
Elian froze, hand poised over a mic cable. No one, not even Cole or
Derick, knew. How the hell did Vaughn? "Wh-what are you talking about?"
"Don't play stupid. It's just you and me in here."
"Look." Elian gave up the pretense of cleaning up and stood, scowling at
his high school arch nemesis... and the subject of every teenaged wet
dream he'd ever had. "Doesn't fucking matter. No one else knows. I don't
even know how the fuck you know. Why did you -- holy shit!" His jaw
dropped as the man's face before him shifted into a sleek gray wolf's
muzzle. "You... you're like me."
Vaughn shifted back, though how he did it without destroying his
clothes, Elian had no idea. "I've been sent to bring you home, back to
safety."

Under and Over It

Regan Finley's photography makes the local music scene shine. He's
four months from his final exhibition and graduation. But instead of
preparing for the party, he's fretting about his exhibition theme --
bondage and passion. There's one person he wants to make his exhibition
come to life, if he can convince his housemate to participate.
Camryn Tate plays the music that makes the young girls scream. He
likes being a local rock hero. When he finds out what Regan wants for
the exhibition, Cam has to make a decision. He can let Regan have his
commanding way and get the pictures he needs for the exhibition, or he
can walk away from the best roommate and friend he's ever known... all
because of a little ball of nylon rope.

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"Have you come up with a theme for your final project?"
Regan jerked his attention to the sound of Camryn's voice. "Excuse me?"
They'd been housemates for almost six months and known each other for a
year beyond that, but this was the first time Camryn had shown real
interest in Regan's artwork.
"I'll use English." Cam crooked one brow. "The big theatre show or
whatever you all call it is in less than a month and half. What's your
theme or idea or the art term for project thingy?"
"It's an exhibition at the Kline Gallery and yes, I've got a theme
picked out. The title is still up in the air." Regan held his breath for
a beat. "Right now I'm going with Confined Obsession." Well, that was
part of the title, anyway.
Regan stared at Camryn with no idea what Camryn was thinking as he
stared back with his drop-dead gorgeous green eyes. Regan stifled a
groan. The guy could model professionally. Cam spent just enough time at
the gym to be sculpted without getting too veiny, and he was one of
those rare creatures who didn't have a ton of body hair all over the
place. Regan swore Camryn Tate was made for photography.
Too bad Cam never bothered to volunteer to be Regan's model.
Instead of speaking, Camryn nibbled on the corner of his mouth, no doubt
deep in thought. The longer he stayed silent, the more Regan's skin
crawled. He wasn't totally sold on the project theme, but he didn't have
much choice. "Confine" sounded so harsh... he wanted something equally
emotional, but better said.
"How do you suppose you're going to show this confinement? I mean, it
sounds like you're talking about someone being in jail." Camryn strummed
his guitar, his fingers gliding over the strings to create a melody
Regan had never heard before.
"It's a working title."
"That makes more sense." Cam closed his eyes and nodded in slow motion,
caught up in his new composition. "Did you have to submit a timeline or
anything? I've got exactly five weeks to get the bones of my music comp
project done. I'm stumped. I thought maybe if you had a plan, your hyper
plotting would rub off on me. It worked at mid-terms."
"Plotting?" Regan snickered. Here he'd thought no one recognized his
latent OCD tendencies. Cam got him, as always. Regan stared at the
computer screen. He felt a little better about his unspoken choice for
the show. "Well, the plan was to show people in the midst of everyday
activities but with the confinements and constraints put upon them by
society. You know, like Cassidy and her son... Skylar with his suit and
tie." Me and my sexuality with a roommate who doesn't know I want him
for more than platonic reasons.
Yeah, there was no way in hell he'd throw that in. Camryn knew Regan was
gay. Regan didn't exactly keep his taste for men hidden. But Regan
wasn't interested in showing himself in the photographs -- he'd worked
too damn hard in the space of four years obtaining his photography
degree to do a series of self-portraits. Besides, his internship at Rock
Monthly wasn't going to up and disappear because of his sexuality. Max
and Skylar loved Regan's take on capturing the musical community in
photographic form. But the friendship with Cam might crumble if love
were injected into the scene.
"Who's going to be in the pictures? Sarah? Skylar? Cassidy might do it. Why don't you ask Marcie -- she's hot for you."
"They might do it, yes." Not quite the way Regan had planned, but they
might get involved. "I kinda had an idea who I wanted for the model, but
Marcie isn't on the list. She's in love with you."
"Yeah?" Camryn looked up from his guitar, still riffing the bouncy tune.
"Well, I am hot, but she's not my type. Too thin." He bobbed his brows
in time with the music. "Aren't I so full of shit? Now for the model.
Anyone I know?"
"Your ego certainly is intact." Regan gathered his wits. If he didn't
just say what he wanted, the moment would pass. He swallowed hard. "You
-- I want you for the model."
How wasn't that a whisper? Shit. The declaration in the mirror had come
out so much stronger when he'd practiced earlier that morning.
The strumming stopped, and the color bled from Cam's face. His eyes
widened, making Regan's pulse skip about five beats. "You want me? I
don't know what to say." He placed his hand on his heart in a dramatic
fashion. "It's all so sudden. I don't have a speech planned."
"Drama king." Regan rolled his eyes. Hell, yes, he wanted Camryn, and
not just for photographic purposes. When Camryn looked at Regan, his
knees turned to jelly. He wanted those eyes fixated on him as he did
devious things to Cam. Looking lovingly down at Regan while Cam
swallowed him to the... oh, God. Regan needed to get out and get laid.
He'd known lots of guys, both gay and straight, and as far as he knew,
Cam wasn't gay -- just theatrical.
"Can I keep the guitar?"
Guitar? Regan forced himself to surface from the Cam-induced haze.
"Sure." For a while, anyway. What Regan had in mind didn't include the
instrument, but keeping it with Camryn had merit. "Actually, yeah, I do
want you to have the guitar. I've got an amendment to my idea, and you
playing will work perfectly. When's your next gig?"
"Tomorrow night at the Barricade. I'm sitting in with the Taylor Rogers Band for the May Day Festival. Tony's sick."
"Score one for you." The stage at the Barricade had the best lighting
for photography. Reds, greens and blues all shimmering off the singer
and players. Yes, that would be great. "I'll be there."
"You know, I'm excited. You never come see me play." Camryn strummed the
guitar once again. A smile built on the corner of his mouth. "I like
it, so don't wuss out." Cam toyed with the tuning pegs. "And I know
you're going to get a huge head, but I'm kinda looking forward to being
in your pictures. The folks in the music building think you're the
bomb."
Regan sighed. He wanted to tell Cam not to fuck around with compliments,
especially with the music people. At twenty-six, he was too damned old
for empty flattery. Sure, Regan loved doing the photos -- capturing the
heat of the performance was what he lived for. But damn, he hated being
on the hair trigger. Four months without even so much as a date sucked
balls. Regan scooted back into the safety of the couch. If he kept his
mouth shut, Camryn would never know how much Regan wanted him for more
than a good headshot.
Camryn stood and stretched. "I'm cashing in. Tomorrow will be late
enough. May Day is a blast but man, the night is long, and I want to
look good in those pics." He placed the guitar in its stand and raked
his fingers through his hair, making it stand up in messy spikes. "Sleep
and composition class tomorrow." He crossed the room in three long
strides and stopped in the doorway. "Have you -- have you ever had a
burst of creativity right when you really needed to crash?"
"That's why I pull the all-nighters. Not because I have to turn the
project in the next day. It's the flow, the zone. Can't knock it when it
shows up."
Cam nodded, and a lock of his ebony hair slid over his forehead. "Yeah."
The smile grew. "Night."
Once Camryn left the room, Regan covered his face in his hands.
Creativity had walked in the door the moment he met Camryn down at the
commissary. He probably wouldn't have paid attention, but Camryn sat on
the steps and sang that Queen song so loud, Regan couldn't help but
notice. Cam knew all the words, even when Freddie Mercury and the bass
line garbled it. He didn't shy away when Regan sat down, instead making
room for him on the concrete step.
Regan sighed. The moment Cam stopped playing and smiled, he'd fallen head over heels. And Cam had no idea.

Hellhound Haydn North is hired by Ridax Pharmaceuticals to track down
stolen vials of its new heart drug which has an unexpected side effect.
Stolen by a lab tech, the aphrodisiac is now on the streets being sold
under the name of Raptus.
Private procurer Kartinka Kruse is hired by a wealthy client to
acquire the vials of Raptus only to find Haydn is on the case. This
isn't the first time she and the Hellhound have crossed paths.
Haydn has been romancing Kartinka for months and his relentless pursuit
is wearing her down a kiss at a time, but alpha male Hellhounds like to
lead and Kartinka doesn't like to follow.
Haydn's hunt for his alpha mate is over. All he has to do is convince Kartinka she's his perfect mate.

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and
adult language which some may find offensive and which is not
appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale
to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made
your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be
accessed by under-aged readers.

Kartinka slid the key into the lock. Having the Hellhounds after the
Raptus made her job more difficult. Once they got onto a scent
Hellhounds were relentless.
An unexpected rush of cool air, blaring car horns and wailing sirens
alerted her. She'd secured the balcony doors of her apartment before
leaving to meet Masters.
Kartinka pulled her handgun out of her purse and chambered a round
before stepping inside. Her gaze swept her living room, the kitchen and
dining area, then focused on the open balcony doors. Her heart leapt
into her throat. A man stood in the shadows, his tall frame outlined by
the lighted city skyline beyond.
Her footsteps silenced by the thick carpet, Kartinka crossed the room.
The intruder was dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt and dark pants.
The width of his shoulders and the long, black hair hanging halfway down
his back was a dead giveaway. Only one thing would bring her most
fierce competitor, the only man capable of turning her heart inside out,
into her home tonight. Haydn North was after the vials of Raptus. It
wasn't the first time they'd both pursued the same prize.
He turned and leaned against the solid wall of the balcony. "Tinka."
Whenever he called her Tinka, she felt vulnerable and wanting, a woman
needing the solace of a man's arms, instead of Kartinka Kruse, acquirer
extraordinaire.
"Haydn."
He stared down the barrel of her weapon. "Aren't you glad to see me?"
Even though she deliberately kept her business and travel plans private,
Haydn had a habit of showing up in the same city. She'd accepted his
invitations to dinner and joined him for moonlight strolls. He'd pick
her up at her hotel room, flowers and gifts in hand.
Kartinka was attracted to his looks and rugged masculinity, but he was a
Hellhound. Alpha males like to lead, and Kartinka wasn't a great
follower. Hellhounds demanded loyalty, and she'd been on her own far too
long.
So far she'd resisted his seductive overtures, but the man was wearing
her down a kiss and a present at a time. This was the first time he'd
shown up at her apartment.
Kartinka lowered her weapon. "What are you doing here?"
"I missed you, Tinka."
Rich and compelling, his voice enticed her. She stepped onto the balcony.
"How did you get in?"
"You should rethink your choice of locks."
"You picked the lock. Perhaps you should have waited for an invitation."
"Perhaps. Hellhounds by nature are more persistent than patient."
She'd ignored him and rebuffed him, but his relentless pursuit of her had intrigued Kartinka.
"I've been thinking about you," he said. "About us."
"What about us?"
"You're mine, Tinka."
A frisson of pure heat slid through her.
His gaze, burning and intense, slid over her, from head to toe and back again. "You look amazing."
To blend in with the hotel's upscale clientele, Kartinka had chosen a
fashionable jacket, form-fitting skirt and heels for her meeting with
Masters. She'd left Masters and visited Lester Potts' studio apartment.
The place had been trashed, and there was no sign of the lab tech. She'd
stopped by a few clubs. Bartenders and bouncers knew their clientele --
who was selling and who was buying product. Kartinka had shown Lester's
photo around. Nobody recognized him.
Everybody wanted Raptus, but no one had a source for the product that had hit the scene like a tsunami, then disappeared.
"Your timing is questionable, Haydn."
"You're after the Raptus," he said, pushing off the railing.
"Not the first time we've had a conflict of interest."
"True, but we can resolve that problem in the morning. I want you, Tinka, and I refuse to wait another second to have you."
Bless the stars!
Her brain told her to throw him out and ignore his overtures until she
obtained the vials, but his alpha male confidence made her cream. She
craved him like a powerful drug.
For months, Kartinka had suffered from the raw need he evoked. Just
being in the same room with him made her senses spark. Why did he have
to show up tonight of all nights to tempt her when Masters had offered
her such a lucrative deal?
"You knew our time would come," he said.
She wanted him. She feared she loved him, but her mind swirled with
doubts. Was his arrival tonight merely a distraction while another
Hellhound ran Lester Potts to ground?
"This isn't a good idea," she said.
"You're wrong," he said, stepping toward her.
"Not tonight."
He cupped her face in his hands. "We are a very good idea. Be my partner, Tinka."
"I've accepted the assignment."
He lowered his head. "Kiss me, Tinka."
His lips covered hers, demanding and hungry. Kartinka answered in kind.
Each time Haydn kissed her, her feelings for him swelled, erupting in a
million tiny explosions she couldn't explain or deny.
Her skin heated, burning in the cool night air. Her heart rate
increased, and her heart thumped in excitement. The noise of the city,
the blaring horns and sirens, was hushed by the sound of her blood
roaring in her ears.
He wrapped his arms around her, held her tight and deepened the kiss.
Her senses reeled, doubt fading and resistance ebbing. She wrapped her
arms around his neck and, with the flick of her thumb, set the safety on
her weapon. Seeking his heat and his strength, Kartinka pressed her
body to his, molding her breasts to his chest, her pelvis to his.
Need coiled, tight and hot, deep in her belly.
His hand slid down her back, over her hip to her ass. He squeezed and kneaded.
She rolled her hips, pushing her pelvis against his, rubbing her mons to the firm ridge of his erection.
A groan tearing from his throat, he fisted her hair and pulled her head back. His eyes glittered. "Tonight is the night."
Fire flashed through Kartinka, heating her blood to a boil. She
responded to Haydn's strength, his alpha male allure. She'd seen him in
action when a bunch of young thugs were beating the crap out of a skinny
kid in an alley. Muscles bunched and fists flying, Haydn had dealt with
the bullies. Busted lip and blood all over his shirt, he'd never looked
sexier. But when he'd taken the kid to the emergency room, signed to
cover the medical expenses and waited for hours because the kid's mother
couldn't be located until after all the nightclubs closed, Kartinka had
fallen for him.
They'd said goodbye at sunrise, and she hadn't seen him in twenty-six
days. Not that she was counting. Damn him for showing up tonight...

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and
adult language which some may find offensive and which is not
appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale
to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made
your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be
accessed by under-aged readers.

T-minus sixty seconds. Really, it was bad manners to blow up a
tea party, but some society dames were just asking for it. Jazz landed
in the ornamental rose bushes outside his hostess's parlor window,
gathered his heavy silk skirts around his knees, and ran like hell.
Not that he was worried. Jazz knew his explosives like he knew his way
around the three-dimensional differential equations of a projected
illusory field.
And wine. And perfume. What? Jazz prided himself on having layers.
He ticked off the seconds in his head, listening to an internal
countdown. Right about now the aforementioned queens of "polite" society
(and those who knew Jazz knew far better than to push a particular
argument on behavior becoming to a lady and the mind-boggling
double-standards that -- oh, anyway).
Jazz did enjoy traveling to different worlds and sampling the finest
wines, velvets, songs and yes, incendiary devices from the thousands of
cultures that flourished around the galaxies, but the next time his
honey, Riot, wanted to spend time where good manners were forbidden in
favor of good times? No thanks.
Where had he been? Oh, right. Crap! Cue the fine ladies
screeching, coughing and sneezing, the last of a harmless fog floating
out the window he'd helpfully, er, opened by jumping through, and they
might have regained enough composure after the flash and bang that went
with the smoke to have started complaining and oh, right.
Five, four, three, two --
Jazz managed to free himself of the pannier hoops just in time to dive
under the cover of a cluster of almost-certainly-sacred ancient oak
trees, before --
BOOM.
If a thing was worth doing, it was worth doing properly. "Proper." See what I did there?
This time, however, the dainty device of detonation had not been hidden
in Jazz's decolletage (quite convincing cleavage, if he did say so
himself). He'd set the charges long before smiling politely and
pretending to enjoy a coin-sized cress sandwich in the ladies' salon.
BOOM.
There, that was the ticket! One for distraction, two to cause confusion
to his enemies, e.g. the people in possession of A Thing Jazz Wanted,
and a third to blow the ever-living fuck out of irritatingly secure
locks that otherwise prevented his honey from wholesale liberation of a
few deliciously prized goods.
POOF.
Oops. He'd forgotten the fourth bomb in the salon. Well, that one had been a bit spur of the moment. And a leetle
more powerful. Enough to, say, jar loose some ripe pickings of his own,
if he were lucky. All he needed to do was circle back around, and --
The discreet two-way comms device concealed in the cunning shape of a rosebud earring spoke to him. "Overkill, Jazz. Overkill."
"Spoilsport," Jazz said, and sneezed. "Let he who has never enjoyed the
smell of C4 in the morning cast the first stone in a glass house."
"Excuse me?" The voice on the comms sounded amused. "You're high on adrenaline again, aren't you?"
"Pish, tosh, nonsense, and absolutely, yes. Perhaps that was overkill.
Others could say I was in the wrong, but I can't blame me."
"You are a ridiculous man," the speaker said fondly.
"I know." Jazz preened. He sneezed again. "Tch. Plastique is one thing.
Debris coated in dust is quite another. What about you, tick-tock man?
Did you get what you came here for?"
"Stop calling me that," Riot said, quite clear -- even over the comms --
that he didn't mind in the least, and even had a soft spot in his heart
for the nickname. "Yeah, I got what I needed. And then some. Wasn't
easy to find and I had to pay a price, but it was worth it."
Jazz enjoyed a ripple's worth of goosebumps. He anticipated all sorts of good things once back on board the Sarah-Jessica-No-Parking.
A triumphant Riot made for a feisty Riot with his blood running hot and
his body all-systems-go. He employed the same affectionate tone when he
replied, "Tell that to the watercress and unspiced kimchi I had to eat
to make nice with my hostess."
"The one you just blew up?"
"Unspiced kimchi," Jazz repeated.
"The trials and tragedies you face, darlin'."
"Darn right. This piece of the puzzle you went after -- tell me about it," he coaxed.
"Later. For the moment --"
"Yes, yes. Run and keep running until you swoop in to save the day, and clear out of here before the smoke does?"
"You read my mind," Riot said, very dryly indeed but pleased. Almost purring.
Consider Jazz's curiosity piqued.
"I'm on my way." Such a tragedy, but the skirts had to go. Almost a full
bolt of silk! Still, a man had to do what a man had to do, even when
he'd tricked himself out in the finest of ladies' clothing.
Probably more so at such times. Hmm. He'd have to think about that more
later. In the meantime, business. Beautiful, sparkly, gloriously shiny
business! Jazz retrieved the pouches of more easily liftable and
valuable trinketry from the panniers and pushed them into his reticule.
"Jazz? When I said run, that wasn't a suggestion."
Oh! Right. "And what'll you be doing while I skedaddle? How will I know if I'm being rescued by the right man?"
"I'll be the one dangling out of an airship with a rope and a half-cocked plan."
"Easily recognizable," Jazz said happily. Wait. "How long a rope?
How high do the airships go?" Wouldn't exactly Be Done to whip off the
3-D fooler facade, and on this steampunk aficionado's wet dream of a
world the airships he'd seen before had to go quite high indeed --"Riot?
How high?"
"High enough I'll make it worth your while to man up and climb. And,"
Riot purred, "when I say 'worth your while' I mean, 'I plan to punish
you, then fuck you three-quarters of the way through the nearest flat
surface.'"
"I am so on my way now."
"Fast?"
"Darling, you have no idea." Jazz kicked off his heels. Not the shoes,
mind, those gorgeous soft-supple open-calf boots of fawn-soft suede.
Just the heels and pattens. "After all, who do you think you're talking
to?"
Oh dear. Jazz heard a set of mastiffs on their way. Here I go again. Skirts, knees, running feet, check. Go time.
Fast.http://changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1715

The world fell apart after the virus killed billions, turning most
male survivors into violent monsters. Then I met Mace and he changed
everything I thought I knew about wolfmen. Mace is my mate. And I'm his.
Unfortunately the new psycho rabid wants to destroy Mace's pack with
extreme prejudice. Our defenses are damaged and supplies are running
low. Mace is going to have to reach out to other packs to hunt down and
eliminate this new threat.
Wolfmen. Working together. What's the world coming to? Maybe the dawn
of a new kind of civilization. A new beginning. One thing's for sure.
Things are going to get a lot uglier before they get better.
If we survive at all...

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and
adult language which some may find offensive and which is not
appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale
to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made
your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be
accessed by under-aged readers.

I ran down the dark street, heart pounding in my ears, lungs heaving,
desperate for air. The hounds of hell ran on my heels, terror weighting
my feet. Mace. I had to get to Mace. I rounded a corner, nowhere left to
go.
Turning back, I fired my shotgun at point blank range.
RK's head exploded like a ripe watermelon. A scream rang in my head.
It still echoed around the room as I jerked awake, soaked in sweat,
heart pounding and sucking air like I'd just run a fucking marathon. The
miasma from the nightmare left me shaking. At least it wasn't Mace I'd
shot this time. The running was new, too. Was that a good thing? Maybe I
was getting over it.
Or I could just be losing my fucking mind.
Mace's spot on the bed felt cold, like he'd been gone a while. Where the
fuck was he? Why hadn't he woken me? RK's whine came through the door
just before he stuck his head in. "Daniel? OK?"
"Yeah, RK, just a fucking nightmare. Where's Mace?" I flipped the switch
for the bedside lamp I'd recently installed. I'd never take flipping a
switch for granted again after a month of oil lamps and candles.
The loud sounds from the hall clued me in that it wasn't early. I
really, really wanted a fucking window! Or even a skylight. On the other
hand, if the lower windows hadn't all been boarded up, those fucking
rabids would have gotten in. Hmm. Maybe skylights with iron cages over
them.
Nah, still wouldn't reach a first floor room.
"He's in the yard with others. Want breakfast?" RK's answer left me scrabbling to remember the fucking question.
"Well, I'm awake now, so how about you get me some coffee while I get dressed?"
RK cocked his head, thinking or looking, I couldn't tell. He shrugged. "OK."
I sighed and hurried to dress before my own personal wolfman lackey came back. Not what I had in mind when I saved his life.
I was dressed, been to the head, and still no coffee. If RK was going to
hover, the least he could do was get me coffee. I let out a deep
breath. Fucking nightmares, always left me grumpy and more than a little
scattered. I mentally shook it off.
Late morning sun streamed in from the high windows highlighting the
chaos running rampant in the main room. A little over twenty-four hours
after the rabid attack and it looked like a fucking gun factory. Weapons
were being stripped and cleaned. Others were inventorying ammo. Yum,
the smell of gun oil mixed with coffee.
Doc leaned over a whining Eagle, smearing ointment on his many burns. On
the nearest couch, Fox lay in an odd twisted pose, I assumed to miss
the worst of the burns scattered over his body. A couple of the younger
wolfmen who'd been injured while defending the den lay sprawled around
the room and were being tended by their buddies.
Finding the normal kitchen crew hard at work cleaning up the mess the
guys left surprised me. Guess it was OK for the women to be back in the
main room even with the former rabids about. The women seemed awfully
quiet, focused on their work. I knew from experience that getting back
to a normal routine after a loss helped. And maybe we'd get some better
meals. Anything but mystery meat on a stick sounded like gourmet fare.
RK stood by the stove waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.
I wove my way through the crowd. A wave of quiet spread out around me
like ripples in a pond. The pack tracked my course across the room.
Fucking reminded me of when I first arrived and they looked at me like
prey.
"What?" I snapped, staring hard. A few tilted their heads in my
direction and sniffed, loudly. I did a quick check to make sure I didn't
have my clothes on backward or something. Nope, relatively clean jeans,
no holes. Black T-shirt with a tribal design in grey, right side out,
no bloodstains.
"What the fuck is up? Did I sprout fucking horns and a tail or
something?" I yanked out a stool at the kitchen counter. "Anything
edible over there?"
Den-Mom, one of the rare women affected by the virus, snickered and
passed me a plate with fried mystery meat and a bowl of oatmeal. A
little canned fruit topped the oatmeal. Wow, a veritable feast! RK
passed my coffee over as well. I plopped onto a barstool at the counter
to eat. If I ignored them, maybe they'd go away.
"They're just curious to see if you smell different, like Mace does." Den-Mom leaned across the counter, sniffing.
I jerked back. "That's just fucking weird. And why would Mace smell
different?" Granted, that knot thing on his penis hadn't ever happened
before. Part of the mating thing I'd assumed. "Something wrong with
him?" Surely they couldn't fucking tell he'd bottomed? Something told me
that wouldn't sit well with the rank obsessed pack.
"No, not wrong, just different. And he looks a lot more relaxed.
Something happened between you two last night." She leaned closer, gaze
boring holes in me.
I took that first sip of coffee and sighed. Damn, that tasted good, even
without milk. "What's between me and Mace isn't your fucking business."
I took another sip of coffee to cover the stupid ass grin spreading
over my face. Fuck, that had been amazing sex. And Mace giving himself
to me like that... might piss the pack off, but it meant the world to
me. I'd never felt so loved, cherished. No, that didn't even begin to
explain what I felt.
"He's our pack alpha. If it affects him, it's our business." She growled and flashed fangs at me, pulling me from my reverie.
I shrugged and dug into breakfast. She could growl all she wanted.
Didn't fucking scare me anymore. "Thanks for the fruit. Mmmm." I savored
the sweetness with closed eyes. Chewing while smiling, that didn't
happen to me often. Felt weird. Good but weird.
"Daniel!" Claws hooked into my shirtsleeve and tugged. "You two have
been at odds for days and all of a sudden everything is fine? Spill,
brain boy."
Was she that fucking dense, or did she want a blow by blow? "If you
haven't figured it out, go ask my mate." And that was all they were
getting.
Den-Mom smiled triumphantly. "I knew it! You are mated now!"
The quiet of the room erupted in yips, howls and excited voices. A loud
growl stood out among the noise. Alpha glared at me with death in her
eyes.
"Sorry, sweetheart. You never really had a chance anyway." I smirked at
her and turned back to savoring my meal. My stomach felt like a black
hole. When was the last time I'd had a good meal? When was the last time
I'd really felt like eating?
Oh yeah, before that brain splatting incident. My stomach roiled and I
mentally slapped myself for digging that fucking memory up again.
Doc slouched into the kitchen, snagging some coffee. "God, that's good!"
She turned to me with a smile. "So, you two found a workaround?"
No point in answering. The stupid shit-eating grin on my face said it all.
The front door banged open. Mace, Slade and a few others came in from the yard. "We need a better damned fence!" Slade snarled.
Calm, cool Slade fucking snarled at Mace? What the fuck?
Mace's deep rumble stirred my cock to life. Fucking thing ought to be
tired after last night, but no. "I'm all ears if you've got a
suggestion." Yellow-gold eyes focused on me, the wolf spotting his prey.
Immediately the room stilled again. They all watched him stalk over to
me. His broad shoulders stretched his grey T-shirt tight across chiseled
muscles. Those jeans looked painted on, nicely accenting his impressive
package, lean hips and strong thighs. For once, my hardening cock
avoided getting cramped up. I stood, leaning against the counter,
waiting for him. That silly grin just got wider. My fucking cheeks were
starting to hurt.
Mace stopped right in front of me, staring down. For a heartbeat we just
drank each other in. As one, we grabbed hold and leaped into a
scorching kiss. The pack must have approved, because the noise they made
nearly deafened me. Mace pressed me against the counter; his hard cock
nestled next to mine. I moaned softly and rolled my hips, rubbing us
together. Hot desire flooded me. The room vanished into the background.
It was just me and Mace and a burning need for each other.
"God, mate, I want you."
I laughed against his lips. "So what's new?"
Hawk spoke softly as always, kept his eyes down. "Hate to break this up
but we need to figure something out about that fence." Still earned
himself a snarl from Mace. Despite Doc snuggling up to him, Slade
scowled.
"So what's up with the fence?" That turned out to be the wrong thing to say. Slade looked like he wanted to strangle me.
"It needs to keep those damned rabids out! We're not losing more women
to those bastards!" I'd never seen Slade so pissed off. "And you could
learn to hit what you shoot at!"
"Good luck with that. Fuckers are damned hard to keep out." No point
arguing that last bit. I had hesitated. And missed killing the lead
psycho rabid. Pissed me off, too.
Slade snarled again. "Any bright ideas, genius?"

What do you get when your greatest strength lies in not dying easy?
If you are lucky and no one confuses you with a pop culture vampire, and
if you diet and exercise to keep your weight down, you just might get
the girl. But first you have to avoid the hunters on your trail, the
cost of replacing your clothing, and get over your phobia about wood.
Only if he overcomes these obstacles will Virgil spend the better part of his afterlife with Barb. If he can survive dating.

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and
adult language which some may find offensive and which is not
appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale
to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made
your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be
accessed by under-aged readers.

It was kind of hard to sing "Cotton Club Blues" when your bassist was
muttering about murder and threatening to cosh a six-foot woman with
facial hair over the head with his instrument.
After two sets, Barb had had enough. It wouldn't have been so bad if the
weather hadn't exercised the Baltimore Rule. If you don't like the
weather, wait a minute. It'll change. And boy, did it change. It went
from a nice, balmy fall day of about seventy to a winter chill of about
forty-five degrees.
She wasn't concerned about her street clothing -- they would be safe
inside her dressing room -- but now her pale ass was cold, and there was
a decided lack of individuals on the street.
So now she was mixed in with the other poor slobs in Fells Point who
were trying to make their way home after an evening of drunken
debauchery.
Only she was not drunk, not debauched, and was freezing her butt off.
So she waved her hand again, bellowing and jumping up and down like a
jackrabbit, trying her best to catch the attention of a cabbie who
wouldn't think she was about to vomit in his car.
What a life.
She was seriously considering starting to hoof it home in her stilettos when a cab actually pulled up in front of her.
"Thank God!" she gasped, opening the door and pasting a smile on her face.
She was about to enter when a voice spoke in her ear -- a very deep, very masculine voice. "Nice dress."
Barb turned around, eyes wide as she looked at the man who had paused to give her such a nice compliment. And smiled.
While standing out on the corner, she had gotten catcalls, offers of
solicitation, and a lot of strange looks. But no one had complimented
her on the fringed and sequined 1940s-style gown she had made herself.
So, naturally, she preened a little and took the time to check the discerning man out.
And then she deflated a little. Sure, he had one of the sexiest voices
she had ever heard outside of a studio, but the guy's whole appearance
just screamed nerd.
He was wearing a nice enough full-length black velvet coat, however. The
soft looking fabric seemed to envelop his short body almost like a
cloak. But that was where the ohhh factor ended. He was wearing a
pair of thick, black, square glasses, the kind that never looked good
on anyone. His shirt was a blinding white and buttoned up so high it
looked like he was choking. The man's jeans were a little too baggy for
her taste and looked like they'd come out of the bargain rack at Walmart
at least five years ago. And, of all things, he was wearing a red and
blue-striped tie. There were some kind of work boots on his feet, and
his hair was a tangled, brown mass that covered half of his face.
Okay, forget nerd -- he kind of looked like a serial killer.
"Thanks?" she offered, shaking her head and turning back to the safety of her cab.
"You are welcome." He had an accent of some kind, but it was not really interesting enough to even try and place it.
Barb shrugged, the conversation over in her mind, and made to enter the
cab -- just in time to have to door slam shut in her face.
"Hey!" she called out, beating on the window while bending over to see who was being so damn rude. "This is my cab!"
A man in a business suit grinned back at her and waved as he leaned forward and gave the cabbie instructions.
Shrugging, the cabbie hit the gas, tearing off down Ann Street and -- rip!
"Oh, my God!" Barb shrieked as her skin was hit with a sudden blast of cold.
The man had not only stolen her cab, but it seemed he had stolen her dress as well.
Her dress had to have gotten caught in the door when the gentleman --
and she was using the term loosely -- hopped inside her rightfully
hunted conveyance. The result was that the thin concoction of taffeta
and fringe ripped completely off her body and took off down the street
with her cab!
That left her standing on the corner with nothing on but a nearly
see-through French-cut camisole, tap pants, and a pair of heels -- damn
her need for authenticity -- with her dress forlornly waving like an
abandoned flag as the rear lights disappeared into the night.
"Oh, shit!" she gasped, breaking out of her frozen stupor to take the
classic debauched maiden pose of one arm wrapped around her breasts, the
other trying to cover her groin as she hunched over.
It was not a pretty picture, she thought as she looked around the dark
streets, watching clouds of white puff up with every rapid, frightened,
and frustrated breath she took. What the hell as she supposed to do now?
Before she could concoct a plan, something warm and soft wrapped around her shoulders, cloaking her whole body.
She blinked and looked over her shoulder to see nerd boy standing there.
He had a concerned look on his face as he carefully wrapped his own
coat around her nearly naked body.
"Are you okay?" he asked, stepping up to her, and Barb realized that in
her heels she could look him right in the eye. That put him at around
five feet six inches tall. It was odd to find a man so short, she
decided, but at least he was being a gentleman.
"My dress," she stammered, her bottom lip quivering as she tried to blink back tears.
She had just gotten her dress ripped off her body, her new and most
favorite dress, and she was standing on a street corner in her
underwear. That was worth at least a tear or two.
"I saw," he said as he began to button the million black buttons that
seemed to line the front of his coat. It was almost like a gothic
version of a priest's coat, she decided as the scent of the thing teased
her nostrils.
He smelled like freshly baked pastries.
"My dress..." she tried again as the man stood up, and she caught a good look at his eyes.
They were so green...

Captured by mages, Medusa is more upset at her own weakness than the
mages' idea of torture. Once free of them, she plans to slaughter them
all. Except, there is one mage who awakens long buried memories of
desire from a past best left forgotten. She knows this man to the depths
of her soul, but she and Darius are on opposite sides of a war that has
raged for centuries. It's more than her heart at stake if she gives in
to her desires.

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and
adult language which some may find offensive and which is not
appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale
to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made
your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be
accessed by under-aged readers.

The charm's magic might be strong, but she'd seen Theron fight it. If his will could overcome it, then so could hers.
"Get away from her!" That command was shouted by another mage who
entered the room. The mage threw power at Medusa's captor, tossing the
man against the far wall.
Her captor righted himself and lifted a glowing hand at his assailant. "You dare attack me, Darius?"
"Quincy, you are an idiot." Darius gestured to Medusa. "Look at her eyes."
Medusa managed enough control of her body so she glared at them both.
Quincy stared at her in shock. "That cannot be." He shook his head as
though that would make everything better. "The charm is active. She
should be nothing but a doll."
"She would have killed you the second you touched her. Obviously your
magic isn't up to the task of containing her." Darius held up an
envelope. "I'm willing to take her off your hands."
"How much?"
"Well over what you would get if you sold her through normal means." He tossed the envelope.
Quincy held out his hand and beckoned, making the envelope zip over to
him. He thumbed through the contents. "You think your magic can overcome
everything. Your arrogance will get you killed. Have her, then. When
she disposes of you, I will laugh at your stupidity and take her back."
Quincy left the room.
Darius watched the man go before facing Medusa. He sighed and shook his head. "Come, vampire." He turned and walked away.
Medusa didn't want to follow him. The charm overrode her senses again
and made her walk. Rather than waste energy she might need later, she
simply allowed the charm to function. Once night fell, she would have
more freedom. She would leave this place, killing as many of the mages
as she could in the process. Starting with the mage she followed.
This mage was shorter than she was by four inches. That would make him
about five foot seven. He was lean, but she didn't mistake that for
weakness. The way he moved spoke of a body trained for fighting. A
martial art of some sort, possibly. Most mages were soft from depending
on their magic for everything, but not this man.
Martial arts training would mean he had speed. Medusa remembered the way
he had arced power at Quincy. The spell had moved quickly, not even
allowing Quincy enough time to shield. This Darius might not have
vampire speed but he would be a formidable opponent if Medusa didn't
time her attack properly.
Some primal part of her cautioned her to be wary. The man walked with
his back to her, knowing she could fight the power of the charm. That
had to mean he didn't fear that she might attack him, because he knew
his powers could overcome any attack she launched.
She sensed none of Quincy's stupidity in this man. That was dangerous.
Darius stopped at a doorway, opened it, and then stepped back, waving her forward.
She walked to the middle of the room and then faced him. Now what? Would
he continue what Quincy had started? If that was his plan, he better do
it quickly. She could feel the sun moving across the sky. The man had
less than two hours before sunset. She had no qualms about killing him
mid-coitus if it meant she would be free.
He closed the door behind him before stripping off his floor-length mage
cloak. The thick, black cloth fell to the floor with a soft thud.
Darius rolled his shoulders and then his neck as though happy to be free
of the burden.
He said, "Now then."
Medusa readied herself to endure as he reached toward her. He touched
the charm nestled at the base of her neck. A surge of power shot through
her body and then he stepped back. "There."
What?
Medusa lifted her hands. Her movements were her own. Her body obeyed her, and she hadn't had to wait for sunset.
She looked at Darius, instantly on guard. "What are you doing? What trick is this?"
"No trick."
"You're the idiot you proclaimed Quincy to be if you think your magic is faster than me."
"Attack me if it pleases you." He backed away from her and sat on his bed, giving her an expectant look.
She didn't trust his open invitation. It was a trick of some kind. He
had a magical trap waiting that would damage her as soon as she neared
him. "No."
He raised a questioning eyebrow and looked amused. "Really? Such a pity."
"Are you hoping for death, mage? Is that why you brought me here?"
"Death? No. I hope for something else entirely." He stood and walked
over to her. "You would have been wasted on Quincy. I make a much better
partner."
With a speed that rivaled her own, Darius grabbed her to him and laid
his lips on hers. She stared at him, too surprised to pull back or push
him away.
He ended the kiss and smiled at her. "You are as sweet as I remember."
"What? I don't know you."
"How cruel of you to say you don't remember me. I remember you quite well. You were so shy in those days."
She pushed away from him then. "What are you talking about? What days?"
"When you were human, Medusa." He nodded at her wide-eyed shocked expression.
"My name. How do you know my name?"
"You told it to me."
"You're human," she whispered. "You cannot have known me when I was human. That was back in the eighteen hundreds."
"I am a mage, Medusa. Not only am I a mage, I am a mage lord. Immortality is child's play to me."
She could only stare at him. A distant memory tickled the edges of her
mind. A memory from her time as a weak, subservient human who had
cowered at the sight of her own shadow. She hated remembering those
days. She wasn't that woman any longer.
But this man... His face triggered those memories.
Odd eyes, one blue and one brown, held laughter and mischief in equal
parts. His brown hair riddled with streaks of blond and red brushed his
neck and the tops of his ears. Not enough to pull into a ponytail but
enough for a lover to run her fingers through.
Medusa knew the softness of that hair. It was like petting a cat. Hair
so fine should never top a human's head. At the time she had thought he
was some wild beast that had taken human form.
She stumbled back a few steps, not believing the direction of her
thoughts. It couldn't be. The man she had known in the past was human.
The man before her was human too. But he said he possessed immortality.
If that fact had been true then as well...
She rasped, "Lord Arundel?"
"The same, sweet Medusa." He bridged the distance between them and
pressed his lips to hers once more. "I will remind you of what you have
forgotten."
One part of her fought against the memories his kiss invoked while another part reveled in their return.